


Under Wing (Guard That Light)

by reedenryete



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chaptered, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:16:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1804981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reedenryete/pseuds/reedenryete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was unbelievable. He was Draco. Heaven’s most skilled warrior. A high-ranked archangel whose name sent shivers of fear through even the most ruthless of demons. His specialties were to attack and destroy, not to defend and protect. So, why did he have to become a guardian angel for this drooling baby? No matter. If he could get through War, he could get through this -- God willing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Wing (Guard That Light)

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Hello all, this story was born partially from my sudden, renewed interest in religion and partially from my somewhat recent obsession with Supernatural’s Dean Winchester and Castiel. (Destiel, why does shipping you hurt so much…) This began as a quick, fun, lighthearted story that was supposed to be no more than 3,000 words, but here we are.
> 
> Please ignore some of my universe’s fallacies, especially in regards to whether or not angels have genders, the biblical timeline, the contemporary dialogue and such. With that, I hope you enjoy.

**Title:**  “Under Wing (Guard That Light)”  
 **Rating:**  R  
 **Pairing:**  Harry/Draco  
 **Summary:**  This was unbelievable. He was Draco. Heaven’s most skilled warrior. A high-ranked archangel whose name sent shivers of fear through even the most ruthless of demons. His specialties were to attack and destroy, not to defend and protect. So, why did he have to become a guardian angel for this drooling baby? No matter. If could get through War, he could get through this -- God willing.  
 **Word Count:**  13,000+  
 **Warnings:**  The twisting of certain religious and historical references, such as the debate of an angel’s gender, the biblical timeline and things of that nature.

 

 

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

  
 _CHAPTER ONE: THE KNIGHT WHO COULD NOT FEEL_

 

“I refuse,” Draco said.  
  
The High Council of Heaven seated before him, thrones of all different heights arranged in a clean semi-circle, sighed with varying signs of disappointment. A few members visibly rubbed their temples in distress, while others scowled with displeasure.  
  
Draco met their frustration with an even stare, the expression in his eyes as cross as his arms crossed defiantly against his chest. He silently watched the eight seraphim and they studied him in return.  
  
“Now Draco, for an angel, you are acting inappropriately haughty,” Seraph Poppy Pomfrey, the council’s Archangel of Healing, said. She was kind, but strict. He did his best not to flinch under her hard gaze.  
  
“Ah, c’mon, Poppy. Could you imagine how tough this might be on ‘im? This isn’t what the boy’s used to,” Rubeus Hagrid, one of the lower-ranked but valued seraphim on the High Council and Archangel of All Earth’s Creatures, chimed in. “An’ Draco, I reckon it can’t be that bad. Humans don’t live that long compared to us angels, anyway.”  
  
The small bit of gratitude that Draco felt toward Hagrid vanished away with a quick, annoyed flap of his wings.  
  
“I am not a boy,” Draco bristled. He glared unblinkingly at them, facing the High Council head on. Respect be damned, they clearly didn’t respect him by demanding him to do something so ludicrous.  
  
“I am one of God’s greatest warriors. I have served and honored all of Heaven without question. I have vanquished many evils since the beginning of the War against Sin. I have done what was asked of me, no matter what dangers lay ahead. I do not understand why I am being punished --“  
  
“You are not being punished, Draconis,” Seraph Minerva McGonagall, Archangel of Transfigurative Weather, interrupted him firmly, but not unkindly. She observed Draco, his name fitting him to a tee. He was not a mere angel. He fiercely protected the Glory Gates and God’s Kingdom, a true dragon of the sky. She could almost see the smoke fuming out his flared nostrils.  
  
Draco allowed himself to wince at her use of his full angelic name. He admired Minerva greatly, and any note of unhappiness from her would always make him bite his tongue, no matter how many centuries have passed.  
  
“I understand you are upset, but this is a request from God, our Father,” she continued. “You have been one of Heaven’s greatest assets, and in no doubt are we grateful for all that you’ve done, but the War has been quelled for some time -- “  
  
“The Demons are just buying time, I know it!” Draco barked. “They’re out there, waiting to strike. I can’t rest. I can’t -- !”  
  
“Enough. Why are you being so difficult? Our loving Father has asked this of you!” Seraph Severus Snape slammed his hands against the arms of his throne and stood abruptly.  
  
“Severus, you are condoning this?” Draco gaped, his voice rising, his jaw falling open in betrayal.  
  
As much as he honored Minerva, everyone in the council knew how much he admired Snape. Snape was there since his existence. Since he was pieced together, particle by particle. Snape taught him everything he knew. Every swipe of a sword, every flap of his wings, every dodge and spiral in the clouds. Snape was his mentor. Excluding God, it was Snape who he respected the most. But he knew Snape. There was no way he would have agreed to this so easily. Severus was hiding something.  
  
“God has asked you to be a guardian angel, Draco, and so it must be done. Stop your insubordination at once,” Snape, the Archangel of Concocting Miracles, said. His voice brooked no room for argument.  
  
A sense of quiet blanketed the atmosphere in a tense lull. The High Council looked to Draco. Archangel of Plants and Wildlife, Pomona Sprout, gave him an encouraging nod. Seraph Sybill Trelawney, Archangel of the Stars, gazed at him dopily, as if she didn’t know Draco was there. Or that she was there, even.  
  
“I don’t understand,” Draco beseeched, trying a different tactic. He dropped his stubbornness and laid himself bare, hoping for sympathy. “You are asking me to stop being a Warrior. You are casting me down nine ranks. Why does that baby need so much protection? And why from me? There are many other guardian angels who have done this for epochs. They can certainly do a better job than I can. I have no patience for something like this.”  
  
Thunder boomed low in the clouds above them. It was not so loud, but it had a definite, resounding grumble.  
  
“And it seems like our Father has no patience for something like  _this_ ,” Seraph Dumbledore finally spoke since the beginning of Draco’s argument, an amused twinkle in his eye.  
  
Draco sighed. He was done for. As much as he respected Minerva, and as much as he respected Severus, Dumbledore was the most esteemed member of the High Council. As wonderful as Minerva’s transfiguration was, and as wonderful as Severus’ concoctions were, Albus Dumbledore watched over one of God’s greatest forces: He was the Archangel of Hope. Whereas humans had free wills and consciences, and God had sentiments of all kinds, hope was the closest thing to emotion an angel could feel. Oddly enough, Draco had no hope of getting out of this assignment if the Archangel of Hope had anything to say about it.  
  
“Father, are you sure?” Draco asked weakly, looking the upper clouds. Only the High Council was allowed to bear witness to the Lord’s face. Although Draco had never seen Him before, the warrior could imagine God’s sour expression.  
  
A crack of thunder sharper than the last shook the sky, as if huffing at Draco for questioning the decision.  
  
Draco deflated, the defense in shoulders sinking into a defeated slouch.  
  
“Holy is the Lord. Praise to the will of his Glory,” he said, reluctantly announcing the mantra that showed his acceptance to the task.  
  
“Wonderful,” Dumbledore clapped his hands together and floated down from his throne. “Let me guide you to Earth. The child will be born shortly and you must meet him from his first second of life.”  
  
Dumbledore beat his wings and soared below. Draco glanced behind him, back at the High Council who had eased from their earlier tension and spoke amicably to one another, ignoring Draco completely. The warrior sneered. Right when he was about to take flight, a gentle touch grazed his shoulder.  
  
Seraph Charity Burbage smiled softly at him. She was the Archangel of Human Studies. While he bowed to her authority, his distaste of humans made him think that she should have been further down the High Council totem pole.  
  
After watching them for thousands of years, he only saw humans as lowly and crude. Even Hagrid’s animals had more civility toward one another. One time Seraph Burbage tried to explain people to him in a positive light, as the ones God put on Earth to watch over the land. Here Draco internally scoffed. If their job was to protect the Earth, they were certainly doing a great job at botching that up with Hitler’s genocide, the wipeout of Native American people, slavery, BP’s oil spill, religious wars and global warming.  
  
“I promise you, Draco. You will find great privilege in watching over a human. You will become a superb guardian angel,” Burbage said with a comforting squeeze of his hand.  
  
Draco, not knowing how to react, merely nodded at her. He took after Dumbledore with a running start and let himself fall through the clouds.

 

 

 

  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  
The first thing he learned about humans is that they were loud.  
  
Draco and Dumbledore stood at the back of the hospital room, while the baby cried and cried and cried. It screamed, gasping for breath with its tiny, little lungs. It was hurting Draco’s ears more than any wound he ever received during the War. How it sucked in so much air and spat out blubbering tears with such force was a wonder to the archangel.  
  
“Does it ever shut up?” Draco asked Dumbledore, a heavy frown settling on his face.  
  
Dumbledore chuckled.  
  
“Yes, but heavy cries is a good sign. It means he’s healthy and strong, and that makes your job easier,” Dumbledore said, turning back to face the couple being swarmed by nurses and doctors alike.  
  
Yeah, Draco thought wryly to himself and imagined endless night after night listening to this wailing. His job would be  _so_  much easier.  
  
“Speaking of jobs, where are the parents’ angels? Shouldn’t they be here to make sure that everything is okay?” Draco asked, looking around the room and trying to find familiar faces from Heaven.  
  
“Oh, yes, I felt their traces here earlier. Once humans get to a certain age, they no longer need as much attention. Guardian Angels can simply come to their aid in dire emergencies,” Dumbledore said, stepping closer to the woman’s bedside. The hospital staff weaved around him unknowingly, as if he didn’t even exist.  
  
“Their job is done for now. The man’s anxiety has been eased, the woman’s birth has been guided successfully, and the baby has been born. Your job is just beginning. Come, Draco.”  
  
Draco took four long strides into the room, as the nurses left the door to give the new family their privacy. The husband had his arms proudly wrapped around his wife, who sat up with the swaddled bundle in her hands. She cooed and bounced the infant up and down, soothing his sobs. Draco wondered why they looked so happy -- the man leaning over to kiss her sweat-sheen forehead -- when he knew if he were their place, he would have dropped the baby in misery.  
  
“This is your charge, Draco,” Dumbledore whispered, fondly smiling at the child.  
  
As if on cue, the woman -- Lily, Draco remembered -- beamed at her husband. The bespectacled man grinned impossibly wide in response.  
  
“Oh, James. Isn’t he beautiful?”  
  
Draco turned to the baby.  
  
“Don’t listen to her. You’re actually quite hideous.”  
  
“Draco,” Dumbledore said warningly, his finger caught in the baby’s fist. The warrior rolled his eyes. He shuffled closer to the child as the High Council angel moved aside to give him space.  
  
Draco looked down at the infant, right behind James’ shoulder. The baby was smaller than the length of his forearm. Chubby cheeks, chubby hands and legs flailed. A tuft of midnight black hair splayed messily on his head.  
  
Draco was unexpectedly nervous. More nervous than when he was face-to-face with demons in the fray of combat. Could he really do this? Stop harm from coming to this child? He was no more than soft skin and bone.  
  
“Hello, Harry,” James murmured, stroking the infant’s cheek lightly with his thumb.  
  
Harry snapped his eyes open at his father’s voice. Draco froze and held his breath at the same moment.  
  
Green, green eyes, with speckles of hazel looked not at James, but they locked onto Draco. The baby giggled, a slow, wide, toothless grin spreading on his face. Draco felt warm.  
  
“Look, love. He’s laughing!”  
  
The Potters laughed excitedly along with Harry, holding him and kissing him, unaware of their audience.  
  
Draco was not alarmed to know the baby could see him. He had heard that when humans innocent and free from sin, especially as young children, they were closest to God and could still see His holiness. But he was not prepared for those green eyes, big and bright, looking at Draco as if they knew him -- as if to say  _there is something special about you._  
  
Long after Dumbledore returned to Heaven to take care of other duties, long after James fell asleep in the hospital waiting room, and long after Lily shut her eyes to rest in her hospital bed, Draco stood by the nursery and watched over Harry.  
  
The archangel cleared his throat.  
  
“I didn’t want to be a guardian angel, but I’m stuck with you. This is going to be hard for the both of us, so you better not be difficult.”  
  
Draco never thought he’d see the day he’d be explaining himself to a baby.  
  
He tapped the baby’s nose almost hesitantly. Harry scrunched it out of reflex in his sleep and gave a petulant whimper.  
  
Draco raised a brow, before allowing a small twitch of his lips.  
  
“Hello Harry.”

 

 

 

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

  
The second thing he learned about humans is that they weren’t only loud -- they were very loud.  
  
Just like at the hospital, for weeks since Harry had gotten home, he cried. And cried and cried and cried. Draco was murderous, but he was sure that was rather counterproductive to the whole guardian angel thing. Draco would have felt bad for the haggard James and Lily, the bags under their eyes heavy and their hair sticking up in all directions from disturbed sleep, but it was their fault for wanting to give birth to the little devil, anyway.  
  
Whenever Draco visited from Heaven to check on his charge, all the baby did was cry. And for nothing that was worthy of needing Draco’s protection. It made no sense for a high-ranked angel to be the child’s guardian.  
  
When he was hungry, he cried.  
  
When he was sleepy, he cried.  
  
When he was bored, he cried.  
  
Draco wished he could cry. But all he could do was stand next to the crib and cover his ears with both hands, as James and Lily frantically ran around the room trying to find whatever was necessary to appease Prince Potter. The child was obstinate, demanding and unashamed. This time he was sniveling because he needed a diaper change.  
  
Draco wrinkled his nose at the stench that wafted in the air. The angel tried to recall what Seraph Burbage had told him before he left for Earth the first time. Privilege, she said? Ah, yes, watching this little human poop himself and giggle at his own fart bubbles was such a privilege.  
  
It was only after James and Lily went to bed, baby monitor in hand, that Draco did what he did every night.  
  
At the slightest whine that escaped the infant’s lips, Draco scooped Harry up, mimicking the rocking motions he had seen the Potters do. Wonderful. He exchanged his blade for a babe. He was sure his enemies would shrivel in glee if they discovered this.  
  
“You mustn’t complain so much,” Draco said sternly, sending a harsh glare down at Harry’s trembling pout. His charge looked rightfully abashed. Good. “I’m trying to help your parents get some sleep for once. You need to stay quiet. Do you think you can do that?”  
  
Harry laughed with delight, just happy to have Draco’s attention.  
  
“This isn’t funny, Potter. I mean it. You’re lucky I’m being so nice to you. I can zap you to nothingness with a flick of my pinky.”  
  
Harry responded by grasping cheekfuls of Draco’s face in his chubby hands. He laid a slobbery kiss on Draco’s chin, green eyes shining in mirth.  
  
“You are appalling,” Draco sighed.

 

 

 

  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  
With the few exceptions he was called back to Heaven for debriefing and other menial tasks, Draco was by Harry’s side.  
  
He was there when Harry first started crawling. Crawling right under an end table in the living room, knocking into it with his knobby knees, making the table shake and the vase on top of it wobble. Right when baby Harry crawled out the other side, the vase nearly shattered onto his head, had Draco not stumbled over and caught the flowerpot mid-fall. The warrior shot an irritated look at the oblivious Harry blubbering and shuffling away on all fours.  
  
He was there when Harry first started walking. James and Lily were five paces away from the red-faced Harry, wailing because he wanted to be carried, but for the life of him, couldn’t figure out why his Dad and Mum were clapping and screaming so excitedly as he took shaky steps toward them.  
  
“C’mon, son. Almost there. Three more steps!” The messy-haired man cheered, smile bright, hands beckoning the toddler, his arms wide open for an embrace. Lily laced her fingers together, stifling an excited squeal, as she bounced on her heels and sat on her haunches beside her kneeling husband.  
  
Draco was hovering behind Harry, walking carefully behind the boy. He was far enough so that the child couldn’t use the blond’s tall legs for support, but he was close enough so that as soon as he swayed, Draco could stop him from tumbling to the floor.  
  
Harry sniffed unhappily, soft complaints and grumbles spilling out of his lips. He stretched out his hands, fingers opening and closing, trying to reach his parents. He almost cried again, his little feet getting caught in the carpet.  
  
“Don’t fuss. You’re practically there,” Draco urged, leaning over in case he had to hold the boy upright. Harry looked up at him with a helpless pout. He turned around and started unsteadily heading for Draco instead.  
  
“Hey, you sprog, you’re going the wrong way,” James said with a pout matching Harry’s. Lily laughed. The two, of course unable to see Draco, only saw Harry circling aimlessly with childlike confusion.  
  
The archangel rolled his eyes and spun Harry around slowly. The toddler giggled and continued down the oh-so-difficult road to his parents. As soon as he was close enough, James snatched him up into his arms, spinning Harry around happily.  
  
“That’s my boy!” James beamed at the equally beaming Harry, who was happy that  _someone_  was finally carrying him, and planted a kiss onto his son’s cheek. Then he kissed his wife squarely on the lips, just because. Lily reached out, delighted as her lover was, and cradled her baby.  
  
“Oh, sweetheart, Mum is so proud of you.” Lily crooned softly against Harry’s forehead.  
  
Draco shook his head. What was there to be proud of? He could have flown hundreds of miles in the time it took Harry to take three measly steps.  
  
But he couldn’t help the feeling of warmth that swelled up in his chest. Or the almost unnoticeable smile that curved quietly onto his mouth.  
  
 _That’s my boy._

 

 

 

  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  
Weeks faded into months, months into years. Harry Potter grew in leaps and bounds. Draco continued to be there.  
  
He was there when Sirius, the family dog -- although to be honest, he was more of James’ dog by the way he dutifully followed the man everywhere --, excitedly ran around the corner of the kitchen counter to fetch the toy James had tossed there by accident only moments ago. The burly, black dog barked eagerly, but could not stop his running slide in time. He knocked into baby Harry’s high chair.  
  
Lily gave a startled, horrified gasp, but the high chair found its balance at the last second. Harry looked unaware of his near fall, only laughing gleefully at the sight of his favorite dog. He made grabby-hands toward Sirius.  
  
The fiery, redheaded woman released a sigh of relief, before her lips settled into a firm line. She turned the stove off, toweled off her hands, and strode purposefully into the living room.  
  
“James Potter, what have I told you about roughhousing?”  
  
“I’m sorry, love! What happened?”  
  
Draco heard Lily’s sharp tongue give James an earful as she scolded him. He almost pitied the way James guiltily spoke back to her, in an attempt to mollify his fiercely frightening wife. She could give Minerva a run for her money.  
  
Draco looked down at the tight grip he had on Harry’s high chair. He almost didn’t make it in time. Then he scowled down at Sirius, the dog looking almost as guilty as his James sounded. Truly like owner, like pet. Draco couldn’t stay mad for long, though. The loyal dog was almost as protective of Harry as Draco was. Maybe he should ask Dumbledore to make Sirius Harry’s guardian angel, so Draco could go back to kicking demon arse. The canine merely click-clacked away, the nails of his paws scraping the hardwood floor, as if to say,  _sorry, mate, but you’re on your own._  
  
He was there when Harry spoke his first words. He managed to not get caught up in the frenzy when the Potters heard Harry blunder through a simple “Papa” and “Mama,” but later that night, Draco wasn’t going to tell  _anyone_  he sat in front of Harry’s crib, pointed to his chest like a Neanderthal and grunted his name over and over again until Harry caught on. (The same way he wasn’t going to tell anyone he used his wings to play peek-a-boo with Harry. Draco figured that bit of knowledge would still kill his enemies, except this time they would die from laughter.)  
  
It wasn’t perfect, because Harry seemed to have trouble with his R’s, but “Dayco” would have to suffice. Within a few months, it evolved to “Deeko” and “Dreeko,” but Draco ignored it because “Hayyay Pottuh” couldn’t even get his own name right.  
  
He was there when Harry would walk around carelessly -- now he knew why humans called those toddler years the Terrible Twos…and Threes and Fours -- and he would stop the foolish boy each time he was about to bump into sharp corners of different walls.  
  
He was there when Harry was rolling down the driveway on his plastic tricycle and if Draco had a human heart, he would have gone into cardiac arrest, because the archangel just barely stopped the child from rolling into a car zipping by.  
  
He was there whenever Harry needed him. He was at his every beck and call. He was there when Harry was scared of the dark. He was there when Harry cowered under his blankets during a lightning storm. He was there when Harry scraped his knee at the playground. He was there when Harry was nervous for the first day of school. He was there when Harry almost fell out of the tree he was climbing.  
  
All the while, his parents would get confused whenever they saw Harry stare unfocusedly and mumble at random spots behind their shoulders or by empty doorways -- did they need to get their son glasses? -- but Lily and James shrugged it off as Harry’s childish imagination running.  
  
He was there whenever Harry got sick. When Harry was an infant, Draco would stand by the crib and rub circles on his stomach and back to soothe the cold-ridden babe until he fell asleep. Even now as Harry got older, too big for a crib, but still too small for his full-sized bed, Draco stood at his side when Harry came down with the flu.  
  
A weary Lily sat at the foot of the sleeping seven-year-old’s bed, releasing a thankful breath. Glancing at the thermometer in her hand, it seemed like Harry’s fever had gone down from its dangerous 40-Celsius degrees. She brushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed her son’s temple. She got up and straightened her body, before looking dead at Draco.  
  
Draco froze.  
  
He relaxed a moment later when he realized she was looking past him, not at him. Still, the shock of her green eyes, all too similar to Harry’s, kept him guarded and unnerved.  
  
“Harry, you are very loved,” she whispered, clearly speaking to her child, but she never looked away from Draco’s direction. “You have someone very special watching over you.”  
  
She said it warmly, almost longingly sad. She said it as if she had known from experience. Draco was puzzled.  
  
“Whoever you are,” Lily continued, looking up at the ceiling with a smile. “If you’re listening, I know you’ve been here to guide him. Thank you.”  
  
Even though he knew she couldn’t see him, even though Lily had left the room some time ago, Draco couldn’t stop himself from nodding and whispering “You’re welcome.”

 

 

 

  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  
“You’re doing a marvelous job, Draco. I knew you would.”  
  
Draco turned around to find Dumbledore smiling at him. The archangel tipped his head in greeting. He had been about to leave from his latest debriefing with the High Council and head to Earth -- Harry made him promise to attend his 10th birthday party. He knew he’d never hear the end of it from Harry if he missed the celebration.  
  
“You have to be there! I’m gonna be in my double digits!” Harry had proclaimed with narrowed eyes. “You have to pinky promise!”  
  
The blond scoffed at his charge. Double digits? Try being in your quadruple digits. He indulged Harry and pinky promised, anyway. There were many times the boy wouldn’t leave him alone until he pinky promised.  
  
“Thank you, Seraph Dumbledore. It’s no job for a warrior, but it’s definitely a battlefield of a different kind,” Draco responded, humor dry.  
  
“Yes, try not to miss it too much. He’s turning 10 today, yes? He’ll be 11 soon,” Dumbledore said.  
  
“Well, naturally. Eleven does come after 10, does it not?” Draco asked.  
  
He was caught off guard when Dumbledore stared at him in confusion. Understanding suddenly lit up on the older angel’s face. It unsettled Draco.  
  
“What?” The blond probed, glancing at Dumbledore uncertainly.  
  
“My boy, you didn’t know?” Dumbledore asked, brows furrowing with sympathy.  
  
“Know what?” Draco said again, letting the boy comment slide and allowed his pride to be squashed by curiosity.  
  
“Draco, most charges lose the ability to see their guardian angels by the age of four, but the latest they ever reach is 11 years old. They have fond memories of an imaginary friend, if they remember anything at all, but the Original Sin they are born with stops them from seeing that particular connection to God until they return to Paradise after death,” Dumbledore explained, tint of sadness in his voice, except that couldn’t be possible, because angels shouldn’t be able to feel.  
  
And the punch of unhappiness in Draco’s stomach, the desperation that clawed at Draco’s chest couldn’t have been possible. Because angels shouldn’t be able to feel.  
  
Harry was going to forget him?  
  
“Oh,” was the only thing Draco could manage. He didn’t know if it sounded as nonchalant and unaffected as he tried to make it.  
  
“You’ll still be able to continue watching over him, of course. You won’t need to be there every day. Only in urgent situations.” Dumbledore said, fitting of the Archangel of Hope to try to give him hope. “You’ll have time again to be a Warrior, if you wish.”  
  
“Yeah,” Draco said. His voice was raspy. He swallowed and tried again.  
  
“Yes, I would like that. I missed the familiarity of combat. This is out of my realm.”  
  
Though to be honest, he just had the need to stab something, anything right now to help him calm down. Slaying demons and shooting off commands to his garrisons should do the trick.  
  
“Not to worry, you still have time to think about it,” Dumbledore said.  
  
Yes, only one year to think about it, Draco’s mind supplied bitterly.  
  
He stood there brooding in silence, offhandedly waving Dumbledore farewell when the higher-ranked angel said he had to fly off in order to take care of another task. Draco wasn’t sure how long he was alone.  
  
Suddenly, he felt a tug from within that he was accustomed to. Harry was calling. It wasn’t searing hot, so Harry wasn’t in danger or in pain -- the tug felt more like a poke. Curious, but annoyed. Harry’s birthday party.  
  
Draco sighed and prepared to take flight. He didn’t need a sad Harry bombarding him for not singing Happy Birthday and watching him blow out his cake candles with his family. (Damn that Potter boy for making him learn a silly human song -- and he had argued with Harry, saying he had been there in the past for the other nine years, but Harry had whined that it wouldn’t  _be the same_  without Draco there. Tough luck, because he was about to have 90 more birthdays without Draco.)  
  
He was stopped by a hand that gripped his shoulder tightly. Almost painfully. Draco whipped around to strike, but his fist froze mid-punch when he came face-to-face with Sybill Trelawney. He dropped his hand immediately.  
  
“Seraph Trelawney, my apologies. Fighting instincts. But I must go now -- “ Draco cut himself off.  
  
Trelawney, while usually lost in a trance, was in a daze of a different sort. Her pupils were blown out wide, but she was unseeing.  
  
“Seraph Trelawney?” Draco asked, worried. That face. He had seen it before. She only got that way when she received a message. She only looked like that if she unexpectedly had a --  
  
She gripped him tighter. Her strength was a quick reminder to Draco that she was still an Archangel of the High Council.  
  
“It will begin one year from today,” Trelawney said in an even, haunted tone.  
  
“Seraph Trelawney?” Draco asked again, louder, gripping the smaller angel by her forearms and shaking her, steadying her. “Snap out of it.”  
  
“It will begin one year from today,” she repeated. “Eleven will have past, and then ten more will decide the future. A Servant will try to become a Master.”  
  
“What are you -- Seraph, you’re speaking nonsense,” Draco’s face contorted cluelessly. He looked around to see if another member of the High Council could decipher her ambiguous words.  
  
“Blood will be shed, and Good will be lost, but if the good in his blood is strong, then the light shall never die.”  
  
“Seraph Trelawney.”  
  
“It will begin one year from today. Eleven will have past, and then ten more will decide the future. A Servant will try to become a Master. Blood will be shed, and Good will be lost, but if the good in his blood is strong, then the light shall  _never_  die.”  
  
“Seraph Trelawney!”  
  
She jerked away from Draco in shock. A frail hand clutched at her chest as she heaved. She looked down, but then blinked up. Once. Twice. The hysterics in her eyes faded to a lazy lull.  
  
“What am I doing here?” Sybill asked with trembling lips.  
  
Draco released the tension he didn’t realize his entire body was holding. He pushed himself away from the High Council Archangel.  
  
“I have to go, Seraph. Harry is calling me,” Draco took a few hesitant steps back. He didn’t know why he was so shaken.  
  
She nodded dumbly after him. Her lips pursed. One thought was nagging her.  
  
“Draco?”  
  
The warrior looked to face her.  
  
“Draco, whatever you do, guard that light.”  
  
He stared at her wordlessly, but his mind was teeming with frustration. Her cryptic messages pierced him with anxiety. He didn’t know what they meant, and the only thing he knew was the she didn’t know what they meant, either. Unsure of what to say, he dove from the clouds and fell to the Earth.  
  
He just wanted to get to Harry. He just wanted to forget everything.

 

 

 

  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  
“Thanks for coming today, Draco,” Harry said earnestly, ridiculous party hat still on his head. After all of these years, it still surprised Draco that Harry could at last say his name properly.  
  
The other children and their parents were already trickling out. Draco noticed that the two children Harry seemed most fond of, a bushy brown-haired girl with two front teeth she had yet to grow into and a redheaded boy with more freckles on his face than stars in the sky, had already left, so Harry had no interest in saying goodbye to the other guests Mr. and Mrs. Potter invited. The angel sighed. His charge could learn a thing or two about manners, but he at least he was a candid boy.  
  
It was nearing twilight. Harry was sitting on the patio set in the back garden, the same table that his mountain of birthday gifts were stacked on, as his Mum and Dad were cleaning up the last bits of party streamers, wrappers, and leftover food around the house.  
  
“Of course, you only reminded me a thousand times,” Draco said, quirking a brow. The boy was swinging his still short legs idly, focused on driving his crayon into a coloring book, one of the gifts he’d received today.  
  
The warrior noted that he was coloring outside of the lines and bit his tongue to keep from reprimanding Harry. The child was hotheaded and stubborn, and could go toe-to-toe with Draco, insult-to-insult. Draco’s birthday gift to him would be to not start a fight, even if it was fun making Harry a little mad.  
  
“Besides, you made me pinky swear,” Draco reminded him.  
  
“Yes, and you should always keep your pinky promises!” Harry looked up at Draco, his eyes crinkling with his smile, obviously pleased the angel kept his word. The sudden action, however, made his glasses -- all too big -- fall down his face. He pushed them up easily with one hand.  
  
Draco felt his own eye twitch. The constant slipping of Harry’s frames annoyed him. It turned out Lily and James Potter were right, after all. Harry did end up needing glasses, but it was only because the 10-year-old obviously did not listen to Draco when he warned him not to sit too close to the telly. That boy ought to have hearing aids, not glasses, the angel thought.  
  
When the coke bottle frames slipped down the bridge of Harry’s nose again, Draco huffed and re-adjusted them.  
  
Harry did not seem to pay any mind to the angel’s exasperation, engrossed in his coloring. Draco glanced down and frowned. Harry was coloring a snake. His fascination with snakes was worrisome to Draco, with Eve being tempted by Satan in serpent form and all, but he kept that to himself.  
  
As if on cue, Harry started a random conversation with Draco about anything, as all kids are apt to do.  
  
“I saw a guy on a show the other night. He was able to talk to snakes. They had full on conversations and everything! I’ve got to learn how to do that, too,” Harry said. The child hissed at him playfully before laughing.  
  
“Yes, you do that,” Draco answered, hiding his alarm. His “but please, don’t” was silent.  
  
Minutes of amicable silence passed by. Draco and Harry had long grown comfortable with one another. The boy was scooting a toy truck along the table, making vroom-vroom noises with his lips, now bored by the coloring book.  
  
“I was going to ask Mum and Dad about you, but it would be weird right?” Harry asked out-of-the-blue. “Because they can’t see you.”  
  
“They might think you have an overactive imagination,” Draco admitted, but he was distracted. He felt a small droplet fall from the sky. It was going to rain soon. He instinctively lifted one of his wings to cover Harry’s head.  
  
The bespectacled boy looked up momentarily from under Draco’s wing, but seeing Draco’s feathers was nothing new, so he persisted through his train of thought.  
  
“If I can see you, does that mean Mum and Dad have their own guardian angels they can see and no one else can? Maybe it’s all supposed to be a secret,” Harry whispered with excitement. Children and their love for secrets.  
  
“Maybe,” Draco offered him, but now he knew better from Dumbledore. He said no more. He suddenly remembered that note of longing in Lily’s voice three years ago when Harry was sick. Maybe some deep part of her sensed the loss of her guardian angel.  
  
“Harry, it’s about to rain! Your father and I would like you to come inside, darling!” Lily’s voice called from within the house.  
  
“In a minute, Mother!” Harry yelled back, standing hastily to pack some of the gifts he’d opened, but he knew his dad would be out in a minute to grab the things he couldn’t carry himself. “Are you going to come inside, too, Draco?”  
  
“No, I can’t today, Harry,” the angel said after a few seconds. He needed time to himself. He needed to think.  
  
“Oh, you’ve got other stuff in Heaven to do?” Harry asked, trying to hide his disappointment. But that didn’t work, because he couldn’t hide anything from Draco. A second later he perked up, even if it was a tad bit forceful. “Well, that’s okay! At least you came to my birthday party!”  
  
Without warning, he got up and wrapped his arms around Draco’s midsection, as far around as he could go. He squeezed him gently and then stepped back to release Draco from his embrace.  
  
The warrior’s brows furrowed. He tilted his head to the side.  
  
“What was that for?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged, his upfront honesty shining in his wide eyes. “You seemed sad all day.”  
  
“Harry! Get in here, son.” This time James’ voice called from inside the house, an edge of an warning in his tone, assuming Harry was not listening to his mother.  
  
“Run along, Harry,” Draco shooed his charge, urging him forward with a light push.  
  
“Okay, good night, Draco. I love you,” Harry said over his shoulder, coloring book, crayons and toy truck in his hands.  
  
Draco stiffened. He knew his God loved all his children. But Love was still a human emotion. As an angel, he could not even begin to understand what it entailed.  
  
“Harry, I don’t know what that means…” He trailed off. He was grateful Harry didn’t seem to expect him to say it back. He didn’t want to lie.  
  
“Hmm, I haven’t a clue what it  _really_  means, either. Mum and Dad say it a lot,” Harry said, his nose wrinkling in thought. And there went his slipping glasses again. “But it makes me feel happy and warm inside. Did it help you at all?”  
  
Harry grinned at Draco. The angel grew quiet. He did feel better when Harry said it. The heaviness on his shoulders seemed lighter. He nodded at the boy.  
  
“Okay, good. Mum says if you really like someone, you should always say it because you never know for sure if you’ll get a ‘next time’ to say it again. She said you should never lose the chance.”  
  
Draco watched as the child bid him a cheerful ta-ta and ran inside. His charge was certainly a strange one.  
  
But he really liked him.

 

 

 

  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  
The next year went by faster than Draco anticipated.  
  
He wanted it to slow down.  
  
He visited Harry less and less, the days between his stays stretching more and more.  
  
He picked up minor assignments at Heaven and he knew the High Council was baffled by his sudden willingness to do things his warrior self had once snubbed.  
  
He knew Harry became more and more sad, more and more confused at Draco’s sudden absence.  
  
It pained Draco to hear his cries, his tears, his prayers. The intensity of Harry’s pleas, ( _“Where are you?” “Come back.” “Are you furious with me?”_ ) wracked his entire core, and his whole body shivered as he resisted the powerful, guardian angel need to be by Harry’s side. At one point Draco dropped on his hands and knees, eyes shut tight, teeth gritted. Pinching sensations spiked across his skin. It hurt so badly to shut him out.  
  
Time went on.  
  
Draco fought the pulls of Harry’s calls for small things like being scared of the dark. He let Harry get used to the comfort of a nightlight.  
  
He turned his head away when Harry called for getting another bad cut at the park. He let Harry get used to antibiotic ointments and Elastoplast, instead of the instantaneous healing that Draco once graced him with a sweep of his hand.  
  
Draco still touched down from the heavens when Harry got sick, as his feeble stature was prone to do. Only when Harry was asleep, though. And if Harry was plagued by nightmares, Draco calmed him with a two-finger touch to his temple and transferred images of sweet dreams into his charge’s mind.  
  
More time passed.  
  
Draco wanted Harry to become independent, to not need a guardian angel so much. Harry had to learn how to fend for himself. Draco wanted Harry to wean off of him, but if he took a moment to be honest, the truth was he needed to wean off of Harry.  
  
Slowly, Harry stopped praying and his pleas faded into outbursts. ( _”Was I imagining things?” “Did any of that really happen?” “Am I crazy?”_ )  
  
But Draco had to do this.  
  
Draco was going to make it as if he didn’t exist in Harry’s life. Draco wanted to make Harry forget him because it was Draco’s choice…not because it was going to happen eventually. Draco was going to make Harry forget him even before his charge turned 11 years old.  
  
He knew Harry missed him, but Harry didn’t know Draco missed him more. And Draco would miss him every day. While Harry could live blissfully in ignorance, Draco would live for decades pained by Harry’s blank expression.  
  
In the days leading up to Harry’s 11th birthday and the days following it, Draco had not once returned to Earth.  
  
If he made the effort to not see Harry and only came to the rescue when the boy truly needed him, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe one day he’d forget that Harry existed, too.  
  
But Draco should have known it wasn’t going to be this easy. And he should have listened to Harry, because you never know for sure if you’ll get a next time. You should never lose the chance to say goodbye.

 

 

 

  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  
Well, that was another small mission marked off on his things-to-do list.  
  
Draco finished scaring away a rebellious teenager who was about to commit arson at a church. For a man who proclaimed he wasn’t afraid of anything, he did a fine job running through the doors with his tail between his legs after Draco spooked him with a few gusts from his wings and a threatening, disembodied voice. The warrior shook his head. Humans.  
  
He was flying back to Heaven to report to the High Council when it struck him.  
  
A terrible, frightening shriek nearly caused him to fall from the sky.  
  
The cry pierced into his chest like a lance and dragged him laterally some hundred feet. The pull of its force was strong, but that wasn’t what disturbed Draco.  
  
The scream was pained, agonized. Wretchedly wounded.  
  
What worried him the most was that it was strangely familiar.  
  
Lily Potter.  
  
 _“PLEASE SAVE MY SON!”_  
  
Time stopped.  
  
Draco paled.  
  
He had never been able to hear another human’s voice before. There were special cases when all of God’s angels were able to hear the same prayer. All of Heaven was certainly able to hear that scream, her plea palpable and strong. And he was right, Draco thought, as he looked up in the distance and saw light shining from the High Council’s clouds. It only meant one thing.  
  
Lily was in grave, grave danger.  
  
Even more so, she wasn’t praying for herself -- she was begging, beseeching for her son.  
  
Harry.  
  
Draco flew faster than he ever had before, as if a thousand demons were chasing him to the ends of the Earth. The only thing was the demons -- fear, guilt, dread, restlessness -- were all in his head. He couldn’t escape them.  
  
He should have never let them out of his sight.  
  
For the first time in ages, Draco allowed himself to pray.  
  
He prayed he wasn’t too late.

 

 

 

  
\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  
He was.  
  
The smell of smoke reached his nose before he even landed.  
  
Draco touched down in front of the Potter residence and bolted for the doors.  
  
Everything was on fire.  
  
The humble home was torched, swallowed in angry red, orange, yellow flames bleeding together into one, single monster. Even an army of angels would have a hard time putting the fire out.  
  
Draco broke into the house. He desperately tried to see through the dark smog billowing up the ceiling and he dodged the sparks licking along he walls and pathways, the blaze hanging like a mockery of garland. The place was Hell on Earth.  
  
The warrior couldn’t hear anything through the roaring infernos. Not the familiar click-clack run of Sirius’ paws. Not James teasing laugh, gregarious but gentle. Not Lily’s calming hums, soft but surrounding. And no Harry. Nothing of Harry.  
  
A weight sunk in Draco’s gut.  
  
Draco rounded the corner. He buckled, almost unable to stand upright.  
  
James and Lily lay dead on the floor.  
  
The angel’s mind spun, sickened, nauseated. He felt like he was the one burning, not the house crumbling around him. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, gasping for the air he did not need.  
  
James glasses were shattered and trampled to his right, as if they skittered away on impact. Lily’s hair splayed beautifully around her, as if she retained her grace until the last moment. Evidences of a struggle were strewn around them, but in the end, their bodies were side-by-side, together until death. Their fingertips almost touched one another’s. Through the darkness and flames, a sad glint of their wedding rings shined back into Draco’s eyes.  
  
The warrior tore himself away. He had been through the most horrendous battlefields, but here, in this intimate place, where he had grown to care deeply for this family -- it was too much.  
  
He fought the need to cradle their unmoving bodies. There was nothing he could do, but ask God to watch over their souls and lead them to peace. Draco ran.  
  
This was not a natural death. This fire was no accident. Someone or something wanted to destroy them. He would avenge them. He would find Harry. And he made a note to find Sirius, too. He hoped he would, at least, so that Harry would have someone to come home to. If not, he would avenge the dog, too. But no matter what, he would find Harry alive. That was no option.  
  
He sprinted up the stairs, not wanting the beating of his wings to unintentionally feed air to the flames.  
  
He took three, four steps at a time.  
  
Every particle in Draco sang alive, sweltering, intense sensations traveling, coursing through his vessel. He let out a sigh of relief. That meant Harry was close by.  
  
The door to Harry’s room was jammed, almost entirely engulfed in fire.  
  
He bashed through after ramming the door with his shoulder.  
  
Harry was standing limply in the center of his room, his eyes open wide and lifeless.  
  
A great Shadow -- an evil Draco had never felt before, the Shadow not even a demon, something wicked Draco had never seen -- gripped Harry’s face, long, gnarled nails digging into the boy’s skull. A materialized essence, a glowing light was oozing out of Harry’s body and into a container the Shadow held in its other hand.  
  
The evil was slowly sucking out Harry’s soul.  
  
Sybill Trelawney’s voice suddenly hit Draco’s core like a speeding freight train.  
  
 _Guard that light._  
  
“NO!” Draco shouted.  
  
It had been a while since Draco had drawn out his double blades -- he hadn’t entered combat since he first became Harry’s guardian angel -- he was out of practice and certain muscles ached from disuse, but it was as though a day had not even passed from how viciously he slashed at the Shadow.  
  
The dark figure cursed, in great pain, but slipped away before Draco could deliver another punishing blow. The jar it held fell to the floor and broke apart on impact. Harry’s soul traveled back inside its rightful owner.  
  
Harry’s form snapped back to life, fear clouding his eyes as he took in his setting, but then relief and hope.  
  
“Draco?” He asked, voice quivering with disbelief, scared he was hallucinating in the chaos.  
  
The blond whipped his head around, his eyes wide, distracted from his earlier attempts to locate the Shadow. Harry had long been 11 years old.  
  
“You can see me?” Draco demanded in shock. “You’re not supposed to see me!”  
  
Harry’s brows furrowed in confusion, but before he could question him, his face blanched and he pointed behind the archangel.  
  
“Draco, watch out!”  
  
Draco turned at the nick of time, a demon inches away from slicing his face. The warrior cut through it, and then through the many more that swarmed him. It seemed as though the Shadow had a bunch of friends it wanted Draco to get acquainted with.  
  
The warrior slit the throats of demon after demon, fiend after fiend, doing his best to stay focused, but a thought nagged at his mind: Harry wasn’t suppose to see his guardian angel. Harry wasn’t supposed to see demons. Yet, here he was, seeing everything no human was supposed to witness. What was going on?  
  
Moments later, Harry yelled.  
  
Windows smashed open around him from the pressure of the heat and fumes exploding inside out. And then a burning wooden beam above him began to fall.  
  
With one last swipe through another creature, Draco rushed over and caught the beam with both hands above his head. The angel winced under the impact and his teeth ground together under the strain. The demons were all after Harry and the house was falling apart.  
  
“Harry, you need to get out of here,” he grunted.  
  
“Draco, I’m scared,” the child confessed, eyes welling up with tears, chest wracking with coughs. “What’s happening?”  
  
“I know this is terrifying, Harry. There’s no time to explain. I need you to get outside. Can you do that for me?” Draco placated. “I’ll follow you. I’m right here. I won’t leave.”  
  
Not this time. He should have never left in the first place.  
  
At Harry’s set jaw and determined nod, bless the boy for being brave, Draco cleared the path as Harry ran a few paces behind him. Draco sliced through the demons that hurled themselves at Harry and he shielded Harry from dangerous debris with his own body. He purposefully avoided leading Harry past the room where his mother and father lay.  
  
The minutes stretched to eternity.  
  
When Harry finally burst out the front door, Draco picked him up and flew to a safe distance in front of the house, close enough for medics to find Harry but far enough to not swelter against the heat of the fire. It was only then Draco allowed himself to collapse. Harry threw himself further into Draco’s arms and he embraced the angel tightly, small face buried into Draco’s neck, sobs wetting the angel’s skin.  
  
“Draco, why is this happening? Where’s Sirus? Where’s Mum and Dad?” The boy heaved, trying his best to be strong, but ultimately crumpling in Draco’s grasp.  
  
The angel swallowed.  
  
“We have to go back and get them!” Harry shot up, eyes crazed, but fierce.  
  
Draco tightened his hold around the child when he began to struggle toward the burning house.  
  
“No, Harry,” he barked out, livid and firm, “You are to stay here and wait for help.”  
  
“But Mum and Dad! And Sirius! And my house! My stuff! My schoolbag! All the homework I haven’t finished yet. It’s all in there,” Harry tussled. He was choking on his breath, trying to find normalcy in the situation, but slowly realizing that nothing was going to be the same. Everything was gone. Everyone was gone.  
  
“I was supposed to walk Sirius today. At his favorite park with the pond because he likes to chase the ducks. And Dad and I were supposed to finish building our model plane. And Mum was going to bake treacle tart after dinner because we all like it the best.”  
  
“I know, Harry, I’m sorry.”  
  
“I didn’t finish reading the book Hermione gave me. She made me promise and you can’t break pinky promises. And there’s a water gun I got for Ron. We were supposed to use it to get back at Fred and George for pranking us last week.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Harry, I’m sorry,” Draco whispered into that black mop of hair, an unexplainable pain hardening in his throat.  
  
Harry continued to mumble on and on, unaware of the tears trekking in globs down his face, as Draco continued to murmur his litany of broken apologies. Draco couldn’t say anything but sorry, but Harry would never understand what those sorries meant. Sorry for not being able to make you smile like your dog’s silly antics could. Sorry for not being able to hold you up like your Dad’s strong embraces could. Sorry for not being able to soothe you like your Mum’s tender kisses could. But in the end, it all came down to I’m so sorry for ever leaving you.  
  
Draco looked away from his charge.  
  
Sirens began blasting and whirring in the distance.  
  
A neighbor had apparently dialed for emergency services because a fire engine and ambulance pulled into the scene.  
  
Draco tilted Harry’s chin up and brushed his black bangs back from his face, something he had seen Lily do many times before. Draco’s eyes widened a fraction.  
  
The Shadow had left a zigzagged, lightning bolt-shaped scar on Harry’s forehead from where it had gripped him.  
  
“Draco?” Harry asked with a sniffle, wondering why the angel was staring so intently. His gulps for air subdued to tear-stained hiccups.  
  
“Harry, I need you to behave. Help is here,” Draco instructed. He began to detangle himself from Harry’s hold as paramedics began jumping out of the ambulance. They rolled out stretchers as firefighters strategically ran into the burning building, while others unraveled a high-pressure hose and wrangled with the flames. It would take a lot to douse the fire, but it was a start.  
  
Harry began to panic. Draco was the only solid foundation he had in this situation and he was slipping away again.  
  
“No, Draco, please don’t leave me,” the boy pleaded, tears flooding in tenfold. He clung onto the angel frantically.  
  
His cries caught the attention of one EMT team member.  
  
“Wait, there’s a survivor! A child!”  
  
One technician hollered to another. Both men dashed toward Harry, first aid kid and medical gear in hand.  
  
They grabbed him and Harry began kicking and screaming. He twisted, he shouted, he fought like a feral animal.  
  
“Son, calm down. I know you’re scared, but I need you to stay with me.”  
  
“No, Draco! Please! Don’t go. I want you to be real. Please be real!”  
  
“Jack, I can’t understand what he’s saying. How do we help him? We don’t have to strap him down, do we?”  
  
“Come on, Thomas, give the poor guy a break. The last thing he needs is another heart attack. Son, please don’t cry. Dry your tears. We’re here for you. You’re going to be fine. What is your name?”  
  
“Harry!” Draco said loudly, steadfast and resolute. He held the struggling boy’s face in his hands and looked deep into his eyes. “Breathe. I need you to breathe.”  
  
“But Draco --" Harry said weakly, wincing with unshed tears.  
  
“Son, can you please tell us your name?”  
  
“No, Harry. You’ve got to listen,” Draco interrupted him. “These nice men want to help you. Let them help you. Tell them your name.”  
  
Harry grew quiet as he tried to stifle his whimpers. Fresh sobs wracked his body, but he bit his bottom lip to hold them in.  
  
“Please, son, tell us your name,” the EMT said kindly, rubbing circles up and down along Harry’s back.  
  
“I’m real, Harry. I’m real. I’m here. I won’t leave you,” Draco whispered.  
  
“You promise?” Harry croaked, looking feebly up at the archangel.  
  
“I pinky swear,” Draco promised, initiating their little tradition for the first time. He extended a pinky toward Harry. “Now, please, tell them your name.”  
  
Harry wrapped his pinky around Draco’s. He’d never heard Draco say please before. He turned to the two paramedics and responded with a shaky breath.  
  
“My name is Harry Potter.”  
  
“Harry? What a nice name, Harry. We’re going to take care of you, all right? Can you tell us how old you are?”  
  
“I’m eleven.”  
  
“Who lives in your house?”  
  
“It’s me. My Mum and Dad. And our dog, Sirius. Can you get them out? Are they okay?”  
  
“We have to make sure you’re okay first. That’s our main priority. Can you come to the ambulance with us?”  
  
One of the men carried Harry in his arms as Draco floated behind them. They laid Harry down. The boy was exhausted.  
  
Draco sat in the back of the ambulance and let the paramedics move fluidly around him. His shoulders were hunched and his rested his chin on his steepled fingers. He watched uncomfortably as they tended to Harry’s scrapes and burns.  
  
Before Harry could start another fit, the angel tapped two fingers to the child’s temple and forced away Harry’s stubborn resistance to sleep. His charge fell limp and knocked out like a light.  
  
Draco stepped out of the ambulance as soon as the EMTs began packing up and revving to go to the hospital. He would follow Harry there shortly, but first, he had other business to attend to.  
  
He scanned the area for any other demonic activity, but his senses didn’t pick up on anything. Harry would be safe -- for now.  
  
The flames on the house were steadily dying, the firefighters having poured gallons and gallons of water onto the roof and through the windows. Draco did his best to stop the bile from climbing up his throat when he passed by two zippered body bags.  
  
Draco flapped his wings, preparing to tail Harry’s ambulance.  
  
An angelic presence suddenly appeared beside him.  
  
Archangel Severus Snape unsteadily landed a foot away, but he tipped so preciously, Draco thought if he blew a single puff of breath at him, the angel would topple over. Draco was shocked to find the High Council member, who rarely visited Earth nowadays, standing next to him. But the sight of Snape’s face shocked Draco even more.  
  
Severus looked ashen. Brittle. He looked like he was going to fall apart at any second.  
  
The warrior tensed with concern, never having seen his mentor appear this shaken. He would have to ask him another time, perhaps after their next debriefing, because he wanted to be in Harry’s sights when the boy finally woke up. Harry told him that you should always keep your pinky promises. He wasn’t going to start breaking them now.  
  
Yet…there an odd prickle in the air.  
  
Draco paused.  
  
The weight of Severus’s presence hit him at once.  
  
James and Lily passed away. That meant the Grim Reapers, or Death Angels, despite how morbid their titles sounded, should have been here to collect their souls and escort them peacefully to Paradise. James’ and Lily’s guardian angels should have been here, too, to guide them in the last leg of their human journey.  
  
Yet, there were no other angels in sight fulfilling their duties. There were no Grim Reapers reaping and no Guardian angels guarding.  
  
Something was very, very wrong.  
  
Just when Draco thought things couldn’t get worse, Minerva materialized behind him.  
  
“Emergency meeting with the High Council,” She said in a clipped voice. “We have a problem.”

 

 

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  
The High Council was in a state of panic. For beings incapable of emotion, all the Archangels ran rampant.  
  
“The souls of James and Lily Potter have vanished. They’re missing completely,” Messenger Angel Rolanda Hooch announced before the council, a heavy frown weighing down her usually serene features.  
  
Draco held onto a pillar to find purchase. He couldn’t take another blow to his stomach. Heaven had  _lost_  souls before to the temptations of Evil, but souls had never gone  _missing._  
  
“I’ve confirmed it with my garrison. Lucifer did not take them,” Hooch continued. She shook her head in frustration and her voice raised in decibels with every syllable. “Their souls aren’t even in Hell. If they were, at least we could find a way to save them, but we can’t locate a trace of them at all.”  
  
“It’s true,” Grim Reaper Argus Filch said. He stood before the council, representing the team of Death Angels. While he seemed unpleasant, he did his job well, and he was considered one of the most reliable angels in the God’s Kingdom.  
  
He lifted up two hourglasses dangling by a chain, both more than half-full. They were James’ and Lily’s lifespans. In the other hand he held a worn tablet. He motioned everyone’s attention to the objects.  
  
“According to Our Father’s plan, it was not their time to go,” the Filch groused. “Their names are not even on the Dearly Departed list. That’s why not one Death Angel in my troop paid a visit to the Potters. No one knew this was going to happen.”  
  
The voices of the High Council erupted into a cacophony of hysteria. Archangel Burbage, who had always had love for all humans, covered her mouth with both hands. She shook her head repeatedly in disbelief. Archangel Hagrid, who had always been openly sympathetic, let unashamed tears cling to his lashes and drip down his beard.  
  
“Oh, those two had been good ‘uns. Good people. If they saw an injured creature on the road, they’d nurse it to health,” Hagrid bemoaned. “I’ll tell all the animals of the sky, sea and shore to let me know if they spot anything amiss.”  
  
Archangel Sprout nodded sadly.  
  
“And I will ask the trees to whisper their secrets,” she offered.  
  
Draco looked around one by one at the rest of the council, each member varying in degrees of desolation and despair. The only superior missing was Dumbledore, who as the highest-rank Archangel, was presumably meeting with God to discuss the next course of action. But the one Draco worried about the most was Severus Snape. The angel’s face was shrouded by his long, black hair. He stared blankly at his hands, not once uttering a single word.  
  
“If not Lucifer, who would do this?” Minerva insisted with a fixed tone. It was an unspoken agreement that all angels deigned to her wisdom in Dumbledore’s absence.  
  
Filch’s face scrunched at an angry thought.  
  
“The collection of souls outside what is decreed by God? Utterly blasphemous. We have a Rogue Reaper on our hands,” he spat, repulsed by the word.  
  
The angels, High Council and lower-ranks alike, fell into an even rowdier uproar.  
  
A Rogue Reaper was dangerous, more dangerous than any demon. It was the true definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A traitor among angels was harder to spot, harder to pin down, harder to target and therefore harder to defeat.  
  
Now that Harry was safe at the hospital, Draco sunk back into his memories and revisited the images in his head. Without the distraction or worry of keeping Harry alive, his thoughts cleared. He analyzed the features of the Shadow. Then it clicked.  
  
“It was Grim Reaper Voldemort,” Draco called out suddenly, stepping forward to the center of the pulpit. It took him a while, but he recognized that slimy bastard. Voldemort was a traitor to God and thrived off of treason and temptation.  
  
“Impossible,” Archangel Pomfrey shushed. Draco wasn’t sure if it was in anger against him or possibly fear at the vile Reaper’s name. “He was banished by the Lord decades ago!”  
  
“I was there when he attacked my charge. He escaped before I could finish him,” Draco spoke in a careful, even tone to the council, but his insides were boiling with fury. The next time he saw him, he would decimate Voldemort.  
  
“It was him. I know it. My eyes don’t deceive me,” Draco said decisively. He stared directly at Minerva. She had to believe him.  
  
The Archangel in question pursed her lips. Before she could counter his query, another angel swooped down by Draco’s side.  
  
“I am also a witness, Seraph McGonagall,” he said. He was a strong-looking being, his black hair clipped around his chin, and he stood about the same height as Severus Snape. “It was Voldemort.”  
  
The angel momentarily broke his attention from the High Council to nod at the warrior in simple greeting.  
  
“Hello Draco,” he said.  
  
Draco’s brows furrowed in confusion. He ignored the gasps and chatter that fluttered around him when another angel confirmed the presence of Voldemort in order to instead observe the newcomer. Another witness? Draco didn’t remember seeing him at the Potters’ home. And how did he know Draco? As a celebrated warrior in Heaven, perhaps Draco shouldn’t have been too surprised that the stranger knew his name, but still…  
  
“Guardian Angel Sirius Black, are you absolutely positive?” Archangel McGonagall asked him.  
  
Draco’s eyes boggled.  
  
Hold on a minute. Sirius. As in the Sirius the  _dog?_  
  
Sirius the dog was a guardian angel?  
  
The other angel watched as the cogs in Draco’s head turned and stitched the pieces together.  
  
“By the way, sorry about that time I almost knocked Harry over in his high chair,” Sirius said under his breath so only Draco could hear him. He’d always wanted to apologize for that.  
  
Draco didn’t have time to react flabbergasted because the guardian angel turned back to Minerva.  
  
“Yes, Seraph. I was the first one Voldemort attacked. I think he managed to figure out I was James’ guardian angel,” Sirius said. He swallowed. The strength in his posture seemed to shrink, as his grey eyes shone with anger and dulled with grief.  
  
“He had demons with him. If Messenger Angel Hooch is correct about Lucifer being unaware this happened, I suppose Voldemort made an agreement with some of Hell’s lackeys right under his nose because those demons were definitely working under him. A Rogue Reaper working with demons. Incredible,” Sirius recounted, his head shaking in disgust the entire time.  
  
“Voldemort banished me with a sigil. By the time I was able to throw off his incantations and fly back…” His voice grew faint. The  _it was too late_  remained unspoken.  
  
“I cared not only for James all this time, but Lily and Harry, as well. All of them,” Sirius said, facing Draco, as if begging the warrior to believe he wished harm did not fall on them. “Harry was fortunate to have a strong guardian angel. Whereas I let Lily…and my James….I’m sorry for failing --"  
  
“No,” Minerva said sharply. Her sudden interjection even made the hard-to-startle Filch jump. Although her lips made a tight line, her eyes were clement.  
  
“You were ambushed and outnumbered, Sirius. You protected James through thick and thin. You saved him from some of the most frightening moments of his life. He would not want to see you like this. I will not have you regret or apologize for anything that was not your fault. I won’t have you believe that you’ve failed, you hear me? Not for one second. Either of you,” the seraph added, staring pointedly at Draco. She began to sense Draco’s guilt pooling into his stomach as well.  
  
“And you especially, Severus,” Minerva said at last, glancing at the Archangel from her peripherals. The angel stayed slouched, defeated and despondent, staring only at his folded hands. Minerva gave him a pitying sigh.  
  
Draco snapped his head toward Severus. His mouth had fallen open. The warrior thought back to all those years, to the moment he thought Snape had been hiding something when Draco was first assigned as Harry’s guardian angel. His mentor, who was the most proud of Draco’s accomplishments as God’s Warrior, all of the sudden wanted him to babysit a human. Snape had been so volatile, so adamant, and it threw Draco in for a loop. But now it all made sense.  
  
Snape wanted someone strong to protect Harry. Lily’s son.  
  
Severus Snape was Lily Potter’s guardian angel.  
  
Draco was hauled out of his pondering when Archangel McGonagall spoke again.  
  
“My brethren, this is a grave matter indeed. If Voldemort is out there, God’s Children are not safe. We must honor Our Father and protect those who cannot defend themselves,” Minerva said. “We must find Voldemort and the souls of Lily and James Potter. Messenger Angels, please begin seeking more information on his possible whereabouts. Death Angels, double-check to see that all the souls are accounted for. Everyone else, disperse.”  
  
At her command, the sounds of thousands of wings and yes ma’am-s rustled in the skies.  
  
Draco was itching to get back Harry’s side, wondering if the boy had woken up at the hospital yet. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to believe he left him again. Just when he was about to take flight, he heard Seraph McGonagall call his name.  
  
“Draconis, Sirius, Severus -- please, come sit with me,” she said.  
  
Draco looked back at her, a frustrated growl almost escaping him.  
  
She raised a brow.  
  
“Don’t whine now, Warrior. I know you are concerned for Harry’s safety, but we have important matters to discuss. I also advise that you keep away from Harry -- don’t interrupt me -- just for now, until we’ve finished talking. If you go to him too soon, it may tip off Voldemort that we know what he’s plotting.”  
  
Draco balled his fists at his hips and his hands twitched, as he fought every part of him that wanted to tear toward Earth.  
  
“She’s right, Draco,” Sirius agreed, although he understood Draco’s guardian angel need to stand by his charge. “If the demons find out that Harry can still see angels when he wakes up, that might draw more attention to him. Let him rest for now.”  
  
“I’ve cast a defensive charm on him, Draco. He’ll be fine and sleeping until you get back, I promise,” Seraph McGonagall assured him.  
  
The tension in Draco’s shoulders released. It was no pinky promise, but it would have to do. He moved toward the round table the seraph had conjured next to the thrones of the High Council. He sat, awkwardly facing Minerva, Severus and Sirius.  
  
“It was no coincidence that the Potters were targeted by Voldemort,” Minerva began. “Tell me, Draco. Ironically, for a boy who needs glasses, doesn’t Harry have an extraordinary gift of Sight? He can see angels and demons, can he not?”  
  
When she turned to him for confirmation, Draco nodded.  
  
“Yes, I wondered why. Harry has been 11 years-old for a few weeks now. The fact he could see demons came as a total surprise to me,” the warrior said.  
  
“Undeniably a surprise for us all. Dumbledore and I had hoped his talents would have gone away by his eleventh birthday, for the child’s own well-being,” McGonagall confessed with a deep sigh.  
  
At Draco’s confounded expression, Sirius intruded to catch the warrior up on the details he obviously wasn’t familiar with.  
  
“James and Lily have always been special cases in Heaven. Even after turning 11, they both were still able to see Severus and me, but it was dangerous for them to have such a strong power from God,” Sirius said. “If Hell saw their Sight, no doubt the Underworld would try to lure them and use those gifts to their advantage.”  
  
“That is why Sirius had to use his rare aptitude for shape-shifting to stay by James’ side without being detected by the man. Severus had to stop visiting the Earth almost entirely,” McGonagall explained, discerning Snape carefully from the corner of her eye. The Archangel still hadn’t budged.  
  
“I see,” Draco said quietly, pursing his lips as he digested all of this information. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain Sirius and Severus had gone through, and the unquestionable agony they were going through again right now. Of all people, James and Lily deserved to be in Paradise. But now their souls were tormented, unable to find peace locked away in Voldemort’s hands.  
  
“And that is why we asked you to become Harry’s guardian angel,” Minerva said.  
  
“The year before he was born, Archangel Sybil Trelawney was overcome by a prophecy. Coming from his lineage, we knew this Potter child was going to have the ability to not only see his guardian angel, but all other-worldly beings. We needed one of our strongest to defend him.”  
  
She turned to the warrior angel.  
  
“Minerva and I chose you, Draco,” Archangel Dumbledore finished for her.  
  
The esteemed council member popped in moments ago from the upper clouds where God resided. His usually calm and kind face was hardened with grim lines. He walked toward the group seated before him and motioned above to their Father.  
  
“We’ve discovered Voldemort is trying to rule over the three spheres: Heaven, Hell and Earth. He wants to build an army with the souls he has stolen. One must admire how he has certainly dreamt bigger since his last attempt to overthrow just Heaven years ago,” Dumbledore said as he took a chair and pressed a worried fist to his mouth.  
  
Everyone at the table grew rigid at the news.  
  
“If he was banished, how did Voldemort obtain a method to collect information about Heaven?” Minerva asked, tilting her head at the absurdity.  
  
“It seems as though he is not working alone. Cherub Pettigrew has supplied Voldemort with information all this time. No wonder why the demons have been quiet as of late. They had two angels infiltrating God’s Kingdom for them,” Dumbledore sighed.  
  
“Damn that Pettigrew. We should have known he’d help Voldemort!” Sirius hissed. He knew the lower-ranked angel. In fact, they had been former friends, but Pettigrew lied too many times and eventually became an ally that could not be trusted. He has only proven that again.  
  
“How do we stop him?” Sirius demanded, fingers itching for Pettigrew’s throat. He was the reason James was no more.  
  
“That we don’t know yet, my dear Sirius, but we do know one thing,” Dumbledore said pensively. “Voldemort is after the Boy-Who-Lived. He’s not happy Harry has escaped him.”  
  
The Archangel of Hope fastened his omniscient gaze onto Draco, who replied with a firm nod, already knowing what Dumbledore was going to ask of him.  
  
“Lily’s sacrifice and love has put a kind of charm on Harry. Voldemort won’t be able to lay a hand on him for 10 years or so, but he will surely send his servants after him. I trust you will protect him, Draco. The rest of us will work with God to put an end to this,” Dumbledore said.  
  
The Archangel of Hope then turned to Severus. After exchanging a consolatory look with Minerva, his gaze softened and he laid a tender hand on Snape’s trembling fists.  
  
“Severus, remember, you are the Archangel of Miracles. Everything will be all right. With your hope, any miracle is possible,” Albus said comfortingly. “Keep in mind, we have always said around here that Lily was God’s Favorite Daughter, with what He would let her get away with. He will do everything to bring her home.”  
  
“James, the infamous trickster that he was, was likely the only reason she got into any sort of trouble. He was always more impish than any demon I’ve met,” Minerva allowed a small smile twitch on her lips and Dumbledore laughed lightly at their shared joke.  
  
While Sirius barked in amusement, no doubt proud of his charge’s mischievous ways, Severus only released a shuddery breath and he sunk his face deep into his hands. Draco watched his mentor with a troubled expression.  
  
Dumbledore gave Severus’ shoulder one more squeeze before he faced the warrior seated across from him. He was quiet for a few moments.  
  
“I apologize, Draco, for commanding you without speaking with you. I did not mean to assume. I know this is not what you asked for,” Dumbledore said sadly. “So, I understand if you would like to go back to your former duties. We can assign someone else --”  
  
“No,” Draco said, in an almost knee-jerk reaction.  
  
Albus raised both brows in surprise.  
  
“No, Harry’s. I’m his guardian angel. He’s my boy. I’ll do it,” Draco said, determined and unwavering. He thought he might have noticed the look of gratitude Sirius sent him, especially when he used the term of endearment James was fond of for Harry. My boy.  
  
Dumbledore smiled.  
  
“Happy to hear. You all are dismissed.”  
  
The Archangel excused himself as he and Minerva flew above to meet with God. Sirius bid them farewell and shape-shifted into a black bird so he could explore the Potter home for clues without raising suspicion from the neighbors.  
  
Draco and Severus sat together for long moments.  
  
The warrior wanted to reach out to the broken angel. He wanted to comfort the leader who had raised him to be the strong warrior he was today. Before Snape had become a High Council member, he was his tutor, his captain. He wanted to embrace him the way he had seen Lily hug Harry when the child was distraught. But he knew that it would not bring Lily back, and Severus would not be consoled until then.  
  
“Seraph Severus…” Draco began uncertainly.  
  
“Not now, Draco. Please leave me,” Snape said, finally speaking. His voice quaked, hoarse and vapid.  
  
Draco hesitated. But then he gave his chin one solid jerk, respecting his mentor’s wishes. He flew away without another word.  
  
Alone at last, Severus, unbecoming of an angel to feel, wept.

 

 

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**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I really wanted to finish this up as a long, single one-shot, but I decided the tale would mean more if readers could digest the chapters a bit. Not to worry, though! Everything is already outlined and the last chapter is already progressing nicely. The next update could be in a week or two, depending on my schedule, and depending if I have the urge to tackle two or three other short stories I have in mind.
> 
> I’ll do my best to wrap this up as quickly as possible, because I know I am personally tortured by WIPS. I myself don’t usually read anything that isn’t complete or a one-shot. Whenever the second half gets posted, I recommend skimming this first chapter again to refresh yourself on certain details.
> 
> Anyway, I’m excited to get this going. With the members of the High Council, some characters (i.e. Hagrid, Sprout, Trelawney, Burbage, Pomfrey) were a given, but I hope you don’t mind I had to make a (tacky) stretch with Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape. (“Hope”? “Transfigurative Weather”? “Concocting Miracles”? What even?) And of course, I translated Draco Malfoy’s distaste for Muggles into his distaste for Humans in this universe. Quite angelic, isn’t he?
> 
> I find that I enjoy reading things from Harry’s perspective more, but this has been surprisingly easy to write from Draco’s point of view. I can’t wait until we get to older Harry, though. While young Harry is charming, I like the bullheaded but bumbling Harry best. He’s sweet, endearing and drives Draco insane.
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> CHAPTER TWO: THE MAN WHO COULD PLAY GOD


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